


American Winter

by YesterDarling



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Snowed In, USUK Christmas countdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesterDarling/pseuds/YesterDarling
Summary: Arthur is travelling from visiting friends in New York City to visiting family in Canada for the holidays. However, he finds himself in a broken-down rental car in a snowstorm in Upstate New York. Though prepared to spend the night huddled up in his car, he's invited to stay with a stranger for the night.





	American Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, lovelies!
> 
> Long time, no see. School's been super busy lately, but don't worry. I'm still alive and kicking and writing. And I'm super excited to share this story with you guys! This year, I was a writer for usuknetwork's Christmas Countdown. It's totally worth reading all the other pieces; there are thirteen days worth and they rock! Check out usuknetwork on tumblr to check them all out.
> 
> The prompt for this story was warmth, and I had a lot of fun writing it. It seems a bit drabble-y in some places, but I like how it turned out.
> 
> This story has a lot of art to go with it, drawn by my event partner, pyocchan of tumblr! It’s super pretty. You can read the story with the art here
> 
> I plan to re-write and update more stories soon. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Cheers, Yester

Arthur shouldn’t have been surprised when the engine began to putter out. He shouldn’t have ignored the sputtering when he had started the car earlier. He shouldn’t have driven when he knew the forecast, or just driven past the last town, or a million other things. It probably would’ve kept him from having to spend half an hour in the snow, making slow progress at shoving the damned thing off the road. 

Grumbling to himself, he brushed the falling snow out of his hair, hitting his shoes against the side of the car before climbing back in. Even after bundling himself in practically every jumper he had brought, the frigid temperatures still kept him shivering.

God, did he hate American winters.

Wind howled as it blew the wintery hell past and over his car, wearing his patience thin. It tormented Arthur, reminding him of the long hours ahead of him. No progress made, no heater to keep warm; just him, his thoughts, and a bundle of sweaters. How long, he wondered, would it be before someone else drove by? Paranoia growing, he forced himself to think of other things, losing himself in the harsh beauty of the weather outside.

And then, all at once, came a rapping on the window.

Startled, he jumped in his seat, jumpers flying across the car. A glower crossed his face as he readied to chew out whoever had decided to scare him so, but the glare melted quickly when he locked eyes with him. They were exactly like a cloudless sky, and seemingly just as shocked as he was.

Over his initial fright, he pulled his coat tighter, opening the door. "Yes?" he asked, remaining cautious.

"Broken down?" His voice was strong, but still gentler than Arthur had expected, and he found himself relaxing some.

"Yeah, that’s right... " He muttered, looking away as pride got the better of him. "I’m… er… not sure what exactly happened, but it’s clearly broken."

"Well, that sucks. Want to come inside? It’s way less cold."

"Inside?"

The man pointed; in the distance, a soft glow could be seen. How had he missed it before?

"That… sounds great, actually." The man laughed, and Arthur looked away again.

"Okay, okay, good," he said finally, eyes smiling. "On one condition."

The Englishman tensed, both good and bad filling his mind. It was the middle of nowhere; just what could that condition be? "And that is?" he asked after a moment.

"I get your name, duh."

He sighed at his own stupidity. "Arthur."

"Awesome, Arthur. I’m Alfred," he replied. "Got any bags?"

"Yeah, just a couple in the trunk."

Before he could make it out of his seat, he could hear Alfred’s footsteps trudging to the back of the car, stopping to wait for him. The snow crunched under his own feet as he walked over, the wintry mess chilling him through his shoes as he unlocked the trunk, hand brushing against Alfred’s. Arthur tried to ignore the sensation, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling, like a spark, as they left the vehicle behind for the cabin.

-x-

"There we go… Make yourself comfortable."

It was easy to do so, Arthur soon found out. The heat inside was intoxicating; almost too much compared to the frigid temperatures outside, and he found himself shirking his coat as soon as he and Alfred were inside.

"It seems cosy..." he commented, glancing around. Small and a bit cluttered, but countless throw pillows and blankets that littered the chairs and the couch made the place, as foreign to him as it was, feel somewhat homely. A cheerful fire blazed in the hearth, and as he turned to face Alfred again, he found the feeling reinforced. With hat and winter wear cast aside, he seemed just as welcoming as the warmth. Soft, blonde hair and smiling eyes that were stunning without glasses to hide them. It all seemed a bit poetic, really, and Arthur had to remind himself to not stare.

"They always fog up when I come inside..." Alfred muttered, trying in vain to wipe the lenses clear. Settling for what was, apparently, good enough, he shoved them back on his face. "Come on, I’ll show you where you can put your stuff."

-x-

For someone with a stranger stuck in his home for three days, Arthur thought, Alfred still seemed awfully comfortable. Then again, he could never be sure; he hadn’t met the man before then. He just seemed so unfazed by it. In fact, he seemed sure of everything he did, from clearing the walkway to even just moving his hair aside.

The touch of Alfred’s hand on his jolted him back to reality from his thoughts.  
"Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," he replied, more focused on the sensation than what he was saying. Alfred’s hands, in spite of the few callouses, were still somehow soft against his own, and while his were always almost deathly cold in the winter, Alfred’s almost too-warm ones just felt right. Arthur shoved the thought out of his head. Why was he thinking such things about someone who was practically a stranger? "I just... zoned out for a second, I suppose."

"Oh, okay. I get that." Alfred smiled, and Arthur had to stop himself from melting yet again. His hand still hadn’t moved and that didn’t help at all.

"Yeah... it happens more than I’d like to admit."

"So you’re just gonna admit it to me, Artie?"

He scoffed slightly at the nickname, but simply shrugged it off instead. "Too late to change the past."

"I guess... you comfortable and everything like that?" Alfred asked, beginning to glance down.

"Perfectly fine!" He stammered out, not wanting him to move his hand just yet. "Blimey... are you this nice to everyone who’s car breaks down?"

"Only if I like them."

He couldn’t help but sit there for a moment, taking in the moment.

The phone, of course, had to do him in.

"I’ll get it!" Alfred yelped, leaping up to answer and leaving Arthur behind, staring down at his hand, simultaneously shoving the fuzzy thoughts away and dreaming up new ones, admiring the feeling warmth.

And all at once, it was gone, as Alfred shouted across the room, "The plows are coming through tomorrow!"

-x-

"Drinks?"

"To celebrate!" Laughed Alfred. "You’ll finally be able to get back on your trip tomorrow; I thought you might like to."

Though, over the past days, he had agreed with Alfred on most things, he was tempted to call him out. Getting back on the road was all well and good, but he didn’t exactly feel like revelling. It meant he’d be leaving Alfred’s company. 

Nevertheless, he opted for lies to hide the truth. "Just because I’m glad that I’ll be back on track tomorrow doesn’t mean that I’ll go and make you waste your liquor."

"Okay then, killjoy. But I can’t just pour bourbon back into the bottle, and I’m not drinking alone."

Well, Alfred did have a point there. 

Maybe, if he thought of it as commemoration instead of celebration, it wouldn’t be as bad. "Could’ve asked me before you poured…" he muttered, taking the cup from him. "You’re absolutely mad, you know."

"I try, I try."

He swirled the amber-colored drink around before downing it, the strong and bitter-sweet flavor coating his palette. "God, that’s good."

"Isn’t it?" Alfred asked, taking a seat in front of the hearth, motioning for Arthur to join him. Almost reluctantly, he did so, Alfred taking his glass to fill again. Fire crackled happily; scalding hot, but neither of them seemed to mind.

They finished the second round slower than the first as they fell into steady conversation. From the taste of the drink, the subject flowed to foods to books to movies, and everything in between. With the third round came out more intimacies; hopes and fears and dreams. After Arthur’s tales about writing, Alfred wove tapestries about his photos and Arthur clung to every word.And by the fourth drink, Arthur felt the same fuzzy feeling from before, though whether it was from being around Alfred or the alcohol was unclear.

"You’re getting awfully close," Alfred slurred, and it was only then that Arthur realized his own head against the American’s shoulder. Had it been that way for seconds, or minutes? It was hard to say. It had just felt so wonderfully right and cosy, and who was he to question that?

"Is that a problem?" He murmured.

"Nah, nah, it’s not... just noticing." Alfred looked away, taking the fuzzy feeling with him. Arthur’s eyes followed, tracing the outline of his face, memorizing the warm tinge across his cheeks and the soft baby blue eyes that seemed to question his every move. They were prettier when he smiled, Arthur thought, but he’d miss them nonetheless.

"What are you doing?" 

He found himself on Alfred’s lap, centimeters away from his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Warm breaths mingled together, heavy with tension and intention and initiative that Arthur feared Alfred wouldn’t take.   
And so Arthur took it for him, and together their lips melted.

Alfred’s lips were chapped, but still somewhat plush against his own, and breathtakingly warm. Sloppily, Arthur tried in vain to take the warmth from him, to remember him by. Alfred, at the time, seemed to be trying to do the same. Hands tangled in hair and clothing, glasses long since forgotten. Quick and shallow breaths fell between parted lips and, Arthur thought, never again would he be able to replicate the same feeling.

In hindsight, he was upset he had stopped.

Alfred fell back, and all the warmth and bliss vanished as Arthur put his hands to his mouth. As hot as it was, even the fire seemed to burn cold as he stumbled his feet, leaving Alfred in exchange for a frigid and sleepless night.

-x-

God, did he hate American winters. And last evening hadn’t helped.

Slightly hungover and more than slightly embarrassed, Arthur wordlessly dragged his bags to Alfred’s truck, not daring to make eye contact. Last night was hazy for him, but it would take a fool to not know what had happened. It was stupid, and reckless, and yet... he still found it intoxicating. And it would never come again. 

Frigid silence continued to reign as snow crunched beneath Alfred’s four-wheel drive, and Arthur silently continued to curse himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Not even an exchange as they jumped the car’s battery; all that was heard was the engine roaring to life.

And just like that, it was over. He shoved his things into the trunk and headed to the driver’s seat, never wanting to think about even the good parts of the week again. Too much that might have never been was lost.

And then came a jolt as Alfred tapped him on the shoulder. Nerves feeling frozen, he turned around only to have a slip of paper pressed into the palm of his glove.

"I thought you might want it... it’s my number. So that you can... uh... in case you wanted to text or something."

Staring at his hand in bewilderment, Arthur couldn’t help letting the warmth flood to his cheeks. He had his high, and a way to catch it. The intoxicating feeling that only Alfred gave him could, in theory, be his forever, and he had the means to get it. 

And yet, it wouldn’t work.

"I’m sorry… I’m afraid I can’t-" he said, shoving a hand in his pocket as Alfred cut him off.

"Nah, nah, I get it. It was a silly question… Sorry…" He stared at his feet, and Arthur couldn’t help chuckling softly as he took out the pencil, carefully printing across the paper.

"I’m afraid I can’t message you," he tried again, "because it’d end up costing me a small fortune. But…" He handed the slip back. "I’ll definitely reply if you e-mail me."

Alfred’s face lit up, and he smiled back. God, did he hate American winters.  
But this one was, by far, the best.


End file.
